


Dancing with Physics

by MattedZamo



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, SO, Slow Burn, but this is fluffy, ill update the tags, it'll probably be a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-04-24 22:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14364849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MattedZamo/pseuds/MattedZamo
Summary: Fucking fascinatingwas all DeLa could think. Trixie was so sure of herself, DeLa was convinced she already had all the answers to all those questions she had just talked about, she just needed to hand it to the other professional people and walk out with all the goddamn conviction in the world.





	1. Bad Morning, Good NIght

**Author's Note:**

> Hello people!  
> I'm not sure how many chapters this is going to be, or when it's going to be completed or updated but nonetheless I hope it's relatively enjoyable!

Sunlight filtered through the window, turning red from the curtain and hitting DeLa in the face as she woke up. She turned and groaned, regretting sleeping on the lumpy couch for the third night in a row. Why she continuously decided to rest her tired body on a surface that was semi hard and not supportive, she couldn’t tell you why. But the now empty wine bottle her foot met when she tried to stand could probably stand as a clue.

She moved slowly around her small apartment making it to her bedroom after the bathroom, turning the small heater on so she could get dressed in relative warmth, making a mental note to try and reach the landlady before dinnertime to get the old radiators fixed. She finished getting ready, clad in black leggings with stockings underneath, a long sleeve shirt underneath her black hoodie. She checked her bag that she would need for the day and nodded once to herself in satisfaction; her salsa, tap and ballet shoes were there, along with her leg warmers, bandages, charger and-damn. She had forgotten yet again to get more protein bars.

A trip to the supermarket was in order and DeLa wasn’t happy about that.

She sat on her bed, an hour left before she had to step out the door. She put her hand down on the butter yellow blanket. It had been brighter, once upon a time, but time and care had let it age well, the color fading but the softness still there. She rubbed her hand back and forth, making the patch under her hand get darker and lighter and darker and lighter, flexing her fingers open and close to watch the fibers poke through.

She stops her fidgeting, and looks up to her pillows, all 6 of them having the same autumn leaf yellow colored pillow cases. She remembers how happy she had felt when she had surprised her then fling with the set, after they had complained that her bedroom décor was to dark. She instantly frowned when she remembered that that had been well over two months ago and that it was time to change the sheets.

Her stomach growled, having been up for some time and not even a glass of water or a vitamin inside her. She didn’t even bother to go to her kitchen to search for something edible already knowing the endless bottles of spices in her cabinets, the condiments and half empty beverage bottles in her fridge. She could stop by McDonald’s again, but the thought of doing that for the second straight morning didn’t sit well with her. She could just go hungry, and go through her first two dance lessons like that, but knew Shangela would pester her until she ate whatever food Shangie had brought that never failed to make her tired.

To the diner it was then.

Her mother owned and help run a diner close to where DeLa lived, a 20 minute walk if the day was nice, a five minute drive if not. Mrs. Crème didn’t need to work, her husband leaving quite a bit of money when he had his heart attack a few years ago, but the woman liked to work, liked to be around people, loved having a reason to get up as early as the sun and go to bed with it. DeLa had been steadily avoiding the diner, arguably inappropriately called Creamy Delights, knowing her mother would try to overfeed her while ignoring her other tables to inquire about DeLa’s life. Questions that her mother would usually ask her clouded her mind; where was her husband, why did she insist on working when she inherited money, why didn’t she come by for Saturday brunch anymore, why hadn’t she gone to therapy yet…so many questions DeLa had tired of answering already.

She sighed, getting up her head already protesting her decision when she felt a tiny bit faint.

She had taught her dance lessons hungry before, she could do it again.

-

Her two salsa classes had gone well, each for 45 minutes, with a 15 minute break in between. It was now noon and her next class was ballet, the hour long session not having to start for another hour. She hurried to throw her sweater, leggings and sneakers back on before Shangela had to come in but wasn’t fast enough. The old metal studio door opened and in popped little Shangie, in yet another sparkly two piece suit for her class. The sunlight caught the shimmery little plastics Shangie swears she had hand sewn herself and DeLa internally curses, more than enough of the tiny golden reflections hitting her in the eyes.

So DeLa stayed on the floor, not wanting to be rude and leave for some much needed food while Shangela talked on and on about the Game of Thrones episode that premiered the night before. DeLa had and has no interest for the show, not even including the network it premieres on in her cable package. But she listened nonetheless, watched as Shangie floated across the room from one wall to another with the broom, her ombre black to blonde hair that had been curled carefully glide almost naturally effortlessly all around her head.

DeLa feels tired as she does restless. She wants to go to bed, and stay there, watch shows on her laptop like she usually does, but something about doing that again causes her fingers to twitch. To sit in that big bed, under those large blankets that she’ll have to change when she gets home, to stay on top of clean sheets after her shower and just watch whatever on her laptop isn’t sitting right with her anymore.

And her eyes fall on Shangie’s golden engagement ring.

It had been _so long_ since she’s felt intimately cared for by anybody. Where someone would take the time to care for her, get to know her body and kiss it, rub it, get her whole body to tingle and pulse with excitement. And it had been even longer since someone had poked her brain, made her think, debate with her so fiercely it made her stop and think about a constructive counter argument over the last point. She didn’t mind _who_ did it, not one for preferences of any sort, just in need of a person by her side to tear her apart to know her both intellectually and sexually. It was a part of her no one really knew, just sticking to claiming herself as bisexual although not many people saw how that was possible given that she never spoke about anyone. She kept close to her studies when she had been in school and after, kept close to her schedule of dance classes and home life.

She fell quickly and stayed stricken long after her deeds were done, the product of an inadequate relationship with both her parents and no other siblings or friends by her side. She saw the guilt in her mother’s eyes when they brunched, how she had failed to be her only friend when no one else was there, only realizing her loneliness when her own friend, her husband, had died. It was another reason why she had opted to skip brunch for drinking alone in her small cold apartment, the way her mother would avoid the part inside DeLa that they both knew wasn’t whole, never was, unable to know when it ever will be.

All throughout college, she had many nameless hookups, in bathrooms and a few times in alleyways behind dingy clubs. She had learned to avoid the conversation of introduction, going in for putting her balls on the table and exclaiming she was only in for a quick fuck, getting whoever it was off and making _damn_ sure they got her off. At times she longed to go back, being slightly or a little more than tipsy to reach into someone’s pants or skirts or dresses, to feel skin against her own and lips against hers. But she’d remembered the hurt she’d sometimes feels immediately or a little time after of not being held, of that person not knowing her name, and she’d be grateful that she was the age where one night stands were considered childish and people who’d go out with her would know she’s in for a _relationship._

“Miss DeLa? You okay over there?”

Shangela had noticed how fixated Ben was for a little bit now, following her hand with her eyes, not blinking. She had been worried for her friend and dance partner for a few weeks now, seeing those bags under her eyes grow a little darker and a little bigger with each passing week. She hardly said a thing, often avoided her, and Shangela wasn’t sure how a pale person could grow paler, but DeLa somehow made it possible.

And now on the floor, her knees drawn up under her chin, one sneaker on and one off, she looked lost and small. “Benny go home, I’ll cover for you.”

DeLa snapped her eyes up to meet Shangela’s having never heard that from her, and knowing, vaguely, where it was coming from. She hated it, but more than that, she hated knowing that she needed it, perhaps now more than any other time in her life. So she nodded her head once, tugging her other sneaker on, and like her mother had drummed into her for all her life, decided to turn her bad situation and spin it into something positive.

-

Whatever had possessed her to think that going to the supermarket was the something _positive_ in a bad situation _clearly_ was on a variety of drugs.

The overhead lights shone unnecessarily bright and she felt as if all the wrinkles in her minimal outfit were being outlined, all her insecurities that rode shotgun on her shopping cart being presented for all the stressed out mothers and bored cashiers to pick out. She felt all the salt that she had left on her face that she neglected to wipe away were being highlighted for the world to see; she was a specimen under a microscope and the stressed out humans in the same overly lit store as her were looking at her, recording her every move and all her flaws.

She knew she was being ridiculous, that the small children that wept around their clearly stressed parental figures preoccupied the adult’s mental capacity so much so that they would fail to pick her apart as thoroughly as she was doing to herself. The thought didn’t comfort her as much as she had hoped so she did what she always did and put her headphones in to blast her music.

She went around the store, having visited more than enough times to know what things went in what aisles to go through the process in relative quickness. Her mother’s voice rose above the loud music, chastising her eating habits by comparing it to that of a toddler and DeLa couldn’t say the woman was wrong. In her cart were 6 boxes of cereal, 2 of each of the only cereals she still enjoyed, 2 gallons of her favorite soybean milk, not accepting any other brand. And now she was in the freezer aisle, trying desperately to reach her favorite frozen chicken nuggets, but cursing her short stature and the sneakers that did nothing to help.

A tap on her shoulder was enough to cause her to lose her precious balance and topple backwards, a firm grip on her bicep stopping her from crashing into her barely full shopping cart. Shock clouded her eyesight and she wasn’t sure if she should be thankful or start yelling but when her vision cleared she couldn’t do anything except stare.

She was _tall,_ not like unbelievably tall, but certainly taller than her, tall enough to reach any top shelf especially considering her arm length. DeLa took a look down at her feet, and saw moccasins, slightly envying the fact that this _woman_ was tall. She looked back up to her face, sure her own still had the look of awestruck written in capital cursive letters across it. She was hyperaware of this woman’s hand still wrapped around her bicep and how her body was in an awkward position. So she righted herself, turning her music off to talk this lady in front of her.

“I’m sorry.”

“My apologies.”

The two spoke at the same time and DeLa felt herself pink. But before she could try again, the woman spoke again, “I am really sorry, I shouldn’t have startled you like that, it’s just…you were struggling so much with getting your nuggets I wanted to help and the only way to get your attention was to tap you and well…” the woman said, letting her sentence trail off with a fierce blush on her cheeks.

“I’m DeLa,” she stuck out her hand so the woman can shake it “pleasure to meet you.”

She felt herself smile, matching the one that the woman in front of her, and she watched as the woman shook her hand “Oh it’s wonderful to meet you too! I’m Trixie!’

Trixie had such an air of pleasantness about her that she didn’t see with anyone else. “Trixie, hi! Where are you from??”

Trixie’s eyes opened wide, and her wide grin grew even wider, “Yeah I’m from the middle of nowhere and I moved here just yesterday, and I came to finally fill my fridge, but I’m still not sure with what, I’m terrible in the kitchen.” She finished her sentence with a small chuckle that DeLa couldn’t help but return.

“So am I, hence my shopping cart, but my mom owns a diner and her cook is amazing.”

Trixie looked at her with a _look_ and DeLa looked into her eyes, seeing and taking in such bright blues, remembering clear ocean water that one vacation many years ago, remembering never stepping foot in it, fear of immediately drowning, her years of swimming at the lake forgotten; she later remembered thinking back to that and _wishing_ she had step foot to see if she actually would drown, wanting to test her theory.

To her credit, the waters had been rough, a storm on the horizon, but Trixie’s eyes, how they match those waters she regrets never going into, was the calm after the storm.

_“D’ya wanna pay for our things and go eat?”_

-

Trixie sat in front of her, eating her French toast and just looking beautiful while doing it. DeLa would be mentally kicking herself for being an idiot and asking out a woman she didn’t even know the last name too, but the silent company was comfortable, and besides, she had let nameless strangers _inside her_ at one point.

Trixie took a break from her food which DeLa found understandable, the slices were thick, and there were 6 triangles to wolf down alongside butter, syrup and powdered sugar. She drank almost half her cup of water and leaned back into the chair, the age being made known when it groaned against the sudden pressure. She watched with delight and amusement as Trixie squeaked in surprise, giggled and leaned back with more elegance.

DeLa cleared her throat, ready to ask some questions “So, uh, Trxie, what made you move out here for?”

“Oh I’m an astrophysicist, and I’ve been sent to the university around here to help another partner with a new project based on the discovery of three new black holes in close proximity to each other near Pluto.” She replied so nonchalantly DeLa couldn’t help but wonder if this woman was fucking with her.

It was hard to grasp what was going on and she picked a phrase to make a focus point from the air of words that suddenly surrounded her. “There’s black holes near Pluto?”

Trixie straightened her back as she continued, nodding a couple of times before continuing. “Oh yeah, just discovered about a month ago, but I’m the best in the mathematical division so what I’m here for is to figure out their distance, their weight, the energy they emit, how dangerous they could get if they were collide and if they have a chance at knocking Pluto off of its orbit or just causing its collapse in its entirety.”

 _Fucking fascinating_ was all DeLa could think. Trixie was so sure of herself, DeLa was convinced she already had all the answers to all those questions she had just talked about, she just needed to hand it to the other professional people and walk out with all the goddamn conviction in the world.

_Admiration._

If someone were to ask her what she felt at this very moment, all she could say was that she admired this woman in front of her. It was…relieving in a way. Dela had never felt anything so strongly about a person in such little time, no matter the talent they presented. And yet here she was completely smitten with a woman who nearly saved her life almost two hours ago. She liked it, even if for a fleeting moment it scared her, and she liked that to.


	2. A Few Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstory for your nerves! How DeLa met Shangela! A tiny bit more Trixie!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter has arrived! Still have no idea where this is going, but I do have an ending in mind so that's something!

There was once a time where DeLa was more than just content with her life. She hated that it was so long ago, or at least felt that way.

Her life had always consisted of just her, her parents, learning and dancing. She had loved and continues to love it dearly.

In school, she loved doing the work in class and learning new things, trying to absorb as much as possible from the textbooks and other reading materials she had to read. Every month brought about a new notebook which was always the same color, navy blue. Her mother always bought her pastel colored notebooks and school supplies hoping DeLa would use them, become encouraged to become like the other girls. But there was no such luck.

She would confine in her father for material shopping because, like her, he wasn’t worried if she didn’t fit in with the other girls, and was just happy she was enthusiastic about learning. They’d spend hours driving out the city to the quieter areas to browse the aisles to their hearts content, the need to rush absent. He’d ask how she was doing in school, if she was still struggling to do the homework assignments, if she had got anxious when testing came along. She’d tell him about whatever she had just learned, whether it be dance or otherwise, what gossip she had overheard from the girls that liked to blab close to her but never invite her into their conversations.

All throughout elementary school, she would hold boundless energy, never finding the patience to walk anywhere, always needing to get from point A to point B _fast._ Her teachers from pre-k to second grade all remarked the same thing; that she was highly intelligent but lacked patience. That she needed an outlet. And so at the start of third grade when after school started up during the fourth week of school she was brought from her last class to the basement of the school where dance classes were held.

Her heart bloomed when she started to dance; finally she had a focus point and a new thing to learn. She remembered Mrs. Summers who upon first meeting her exclaimed “well if it isn’t the little runner! I hope you’re ready to dance that energy away!” When she got home that day, she had indeed danced her energy away and collapsed into what would become the addition of afternoon naps before dinner for the next decade.

Mrs. Summers was relatively young, only in her late twenties when DeLa first met her, and she knew all the high energy dances possible having traveled alongside her parents to learn them. She knew Dominican bacahata, Argentinian tango, Cuban salsa, and a few more that DeLa never remembered the names to but could do pretty well.

Rain, shine or any other weather never dampened DeLa’s spirit to dance, it only increased when Mrs. Summers expected more from her, always pushed her to do _more._ To sway her hips _more,_ to move her feet _more,_ to practice _more,_ to push herself _more._ Even during summer vacation or any school breaks, her father would drive her to Mrs. Summers house so she could practice in her makeshift dance studio in her basement while her dad stayed upstairs and drank coffee or sometimes watched her practice.

And then along came eleventh grade.

Mrs. Summers and her had continued to dance, to perfect DeLa’s movements on their newest ballet number they created together. DeLa felt her only friend was Mrs. Summers, noticing how her dark attire and quiet demeanor put the other girls off. It saddened her even more because she so desperately wanted to be friends with some of the other girls, finding them to be so beautiful, some looking so soft and warm. She would sneak some of her mom’s older yet more fashionable dresses and slip them on and immediately feel weird. Her mother was a little fuller than her and the dress would hang off her, not defining her slimmer shape. The colors would feel wrong, peaches and beiges against her already pale skin. She had grown to like how dark colors contrasted against her.

While in her home one afternoon, DeLa wanted to tell Mrs. Summers about how she felt about girls, how things were starting to get confusing, how she wasn’t sure if her longing to touch girls were for hugs or something more. They never got to talking about what DeLa was feeling or dancing because her dance teacher and partner of almost 8 years had news of her own.

She was moving to Brazil.

“I put in an application to become a teacher there, teach little boys and girls all the things I’ve been teaching you Benny.”

“Oh. Will we see each other again?”

“Oh, honey, I’m not really sure, and I’d hate to make false promises.”

DeLa went home shattered. There was no changing Mrs. Summers mind now that it was made up. There was no point in changing it anyhow, her ticket was bought, the trip was the following day, her bags were packed and her home was pretty much in the market already. It was strange having to talk to her dad about how she felt once again, since she had unintentionally stopped talking with him a little while ago. It had stopped feeling weird when she saw he was just open for conversation, and everything flowed out.

He didn’t seem surprised when she expressed that she was starting to catch feelings about many different things at once, perhaps they both had always knew it would happen one day. She knew he was a very observant parent no matter how busy he appeared; she knew he always kept an eye out for his little bun. Dinnertime no longer consisted of DeLa talking to her parents about what happened between her and Mrs. Summers, but reverted back to what new things she had learned, _if_ she learned new things, either in class or from reading in the library, and what gossip she had overheard from the girls who overlooked her presence and blabbed about their lives loudly close to her.

Once over dinner, she made a passing comment about how she had found a new girl cute and her mother grew upset, growing red and then pale before storming from the meal she had made. In the distance, she heard her mom slam the door of her bedroom and she looked to her dad for advice. They kept their voices low as he urged her to finish her thought and they made a silent vow not to talk about her attractions when her mother was nearby.

DeLa never got an explanation for that explosion, but somehow she already knew.

A month after Mrs. Summers had left, a letter made its way to the Crème residence for DeLa from the woman herself. When DeLa got home, exhausted from being the school joke and carrying the knowledge she couldn’t run to Mrs. Summers like she usually would, her mom bombarded her with the letter in hand.

“DeLa, you have to open this! It’s from April!”

“Who is-“ she yawned loudly, unable to hold it in any longer “-April and why do I _have_ to open it?”

“God DeLa you really are dense aren’t y-“

“Merriam! Can you please?” Her dad was in his chair in the living room, a hard look on his face that immediately softened when he reached DeLa’s eyes.

“Benny, open the letter.”

She sat down on the comfortable leather couch, her bag on the floor, and opened the letter. She read it over, and over, and over, and on the fourth time, the words finally seeped in. Mrs. Summers had a close friend who had a dance studio and was willing to let DeLa finish learning her routines in exchange for helping her teach amateur dancers. DeLa wanted to cry but she wasn’t sure from what. It was truly a bittersweet moment for her; being able to dance to her hearts content but unable to do so with Mrs. Summers.

She met with Shangela sometime after and although Shangie wasn’t that much older than her, an age difference of about three years, give or take a few months, Shangie still treated her like her little sister, and at times of stress, her child. DeLa didn’t really mind not being treated as someone within the same age group as Shangela, was more than happy to have a friend.

Shangela warmed up to DeLa quickly, always making sure she was okay and teaching her new things her mom didn’t have time to teach and things her school couldn’t teach her. Shangela hosted sleepovers alongside DeLa, always inviting other college students that DeLa never bothered learning their names too, but was always interested in what they were studying, what they were passionate for, almost feeding off the energy that radiated from each other.

She may have lost Mrs. Summers, but she was always happy to have Shangela.

-

It had been a long time since DeLa woke up happily, in her own time without the stress of the day nagging her as soon as her mind kicked in. She woke up slowly, her ears registering the sounds of the outside, her mind checking in with her body, checked that it was warm under her blanket; her back was thanking her for sleeping in her bed, her right hip a little sore for sleeping on it all night long. Her eyes opened and she took in the sight of the orange hued sunlight coming in through her curtained window. She blinked her eyes a few times, trying to clear out the blurriness a little bit faster.

She stretched out her whole body, her arms behind her head, letting her fingers wiggle against the solid headboard, her fingertips lightly touching the wooden surface. Her feet pressed against the footboard and she clicked her toes. She sighed into the slightly cool air, listening as her joints popped all across her body and then rolling her eyes as her body continued to stretch itself, twisting in one direction and then the other as her muscles were tugged on and even more joints popped.

She sat up in bed, happy she didn’t get light headed from doing so at a quick pace. She didn’t mind the air hitting her, since she changed leggings when she got home the night before and only took off her bras and shirt before putting her sweater back on and passing out in bed. She made her way to the bathroom, taking her little space heater with her to take a quick shower. Right before she peed, and after plugging in the heater, she ran back to her room to get clean underwear, another black sweater and a shirt.

After the bathroom, she stood in the kitchen, silently chastising herself for not putting lotion on her skin and eating cereal while reading the news on her phone. It was 10 am and she didn’t have anything to do, the studio being closed for the day. She turned her head to her bedroom and decided it was laundry day and texted Shangie to make a day out of it. Before eating another spoonful, she sent a message out to her friend for laundry and Chinese food. She smiled around her spoon when she received an almost immediate reply of a _yes_ in all capital letters and several thumbs up emojis.

In her good mood, she almost texted Trixie as well, but stopped herself when she realized the last message there was from her, and wasn’t sure what to say or if sending two texts was still considered okay. She finished her cereal and poured more into the tinted milk telling herself that she’d just have to wait.

-

“…and then Richie, that sweet soul, bless his heart, Richie steps into the water with his sock on before his mind registers that he was stepping in the spill he made.”

DeLa laughed along to Shangela’s story about her fiancé’s mishaps during dinner the previous evening while the two women sat around waiting for their clothes to dry. DeLa had only brought along one big laundry bag with her, since she was so used to being an outfit repeater and also her blanket, sheets and pillowcases. Although she was always met with the critique from Shangela that she surely had more than four dance outfits, DeLa held the argument that Febreze and perfumes were a thing and none of her outfits held any stains ready on the command. But she did internally cringe a bit when she took into account just how much sweat and dirt were clogging the pores of the fabrics.

Shangela, on the other hand, had brought multiple bags, three DeLa had counted, and Shangela remarked that there were _still_ things she needed to wash. DeLa made a mental note to make another laundry day soon, if not to help Shangela out with her laundry than to spend time with company other than herself. Perhaps, she thought to herself, she could ask Shangela to bring Richie along. She liked him, he was a quiet person by himself like DeLa, but unlike her, always was louder and livelier when Shangie was thrown into the mix. She liked hanging around them, never feeling awkward since they weren’t heavy on PDA like she had seen with other couples.

She had been alternating between looking at her hands and looking at Shangela while she continued on about Richie almost touching the hot pan with his hand as he spoke on the phone when her eyes focused intently on her hands. She felt them not move as it stayed fixated on her hands, and she knew her eyes had just locked in for a moment for no reason at all. She knew there was a reason, she just wasn’t sure what it was.

“So DeLa, what to tell me what happened yesterday?”

She let out a little breath and unlocked her eyes from her hands to meet Shangela’s brown ones. “Yeah it was just a bad day. Actually no, just a weird morning, the rest of the day went by just fine. But I ran into someone.”

Shangela’s eyebrow went up a little and her face relaxed back into a neutral state; her sistering face “Who’d you meet? And are you feeling any better?”

“I feel good, I’m okay. And a girl, Trixie she said her name is. She’s into…science stuff, I can’t really remember the name of it right now.”

Shangela’s face broke from its façade and surprise set in its place “Trixie? Like Trixie Mattel? You saw her?”

“Yeah? Why? You know her?”

“Sort of, in one of my classes, she was in it and I was just impressed by her, she always knew the right answers when she called them out and we talked once and she was really kind.”

“Shangela, how do you remember that? College was so long ago!”

It really wasn’t, but to DeLa it felt like since Shangela had been a month away from graduation when DeLa got accepted into her school. She smiled and giggled as she moved to avoid Shangela’s swat that was coming her way. “Benny it-“

“Honestly Shang, I’m surprised your old lady brain remembers someone from so long ago!” She laughed moving further away from Shangela as the smaller woman was getting up from the hard blue plastic chairs the laundry mat provided. She stood still for a moment so she could deliver her next line with a triumphant smile on her face “How does it feel to successfully remember someone you met back in 1954?”

Shangela joined in laughing at DeLa’s joke before trying to swat at her with the rag she kept in hand, “Benny I am _not_ that old! We’re three years apart!”

DeLa caught sight of one the machines that held their clothes stopping and made her way to them, passing Shangela with her last snarky comment “Add an extra two zeroes to the end of that three and you’ll be correct” She laughed some more when she felt Shangela’s rag swat against the back of her thighs as she bent to open the washing machine door.

-

Shangela’s three full bags of freshly washed, dried and folded laundry sat in her car while DeLa’s bag sat in the living room, next to the TV stand. They sat on their legs eating their favorite meal while half paying attention to the news that was being broadcasted. DeLa noticed how Shangela had been pushing around her sweet and sour chicken into and out of its accompanying white rice while DeLa munched quietly on her copy of the meal.

DeLa ate her fill, almost half the container, the sauce that went along with it left untouched such as Shangela’s. She closed the top of the Styrofoam container and made sure to put the little tab in the designated hole, then watched as Shangela did the same.

Shangela gave a deep sighed before she turned her whole body to DeLa “Ben, what do you see in Trixie?”

The look on Shangela’s face troubled DeLa, since she rarely saw it. She looked so concerned like she had seen DeLa doing something that would cause great concern, like finishing off a second bottle of wine after barely spending more than twenty minutes on the first. “I- we- nothing. I hope we can be friends, maybe good friends, I don’t really like her like _that_ I think. Shangie what’s up? And you can’t say ‘nothing’ either because it’s not.”

“Well Benny you just tend to fall to fast so y’know. I mean if you like her already then you do you but do you with caution especially now since you don’t know that much about her.” Shangela’s phone gave off a notification, a text from Richie, and even though DeLa couldn’t see the text, she knew it was something along the lines that it was getting late.

“I’ll be fine Shange. Now get home before Richie busts down my door.”

As the two got up, Shangela pressed the rest of her meal into DeLa’s hands with a face that DeLa already read as _don’t fight me on this_. She wasn’t, it was her favorite meal, why would she? “Oh please, Richie can’t even bend over to put his shoes on without needing a breath, he isn’t busting down any doors anytime soon.” Shangela said the third part of her sentence more into DeLa’s clavicle as the two hugged their goodbyes.

-

Shangela sat in her car hoping that DeLa wasn’t watching from her window like she sometimes did. She shuddered and shook even though she wasn’t cold, but felt cold chills run through her arms and back. She ran her hands through her hair and across her face and did it twice more. And finally she sucked in deep breaths, held them, and rushed air out her nose.

_Trixie Mattel._

Shangela remembered her, how she had fallen for her brilliance, and then for her body, and then for _her._ Everyone was a free spirit in college, she remembered that much vividly. To her, and to many others, there was no such thing as genders, people were people and those people loved to have sex. It was only one semester, _one_ , 15 weeks with the same four professors, same four classes and the same how many other students came with those classes. And she got caught up on Trixie.

Trixie wasn’t a bad person, she had to force herself to rationalize, she was following the flow of the countless other people who attended college with them, going with the unspoken rule of _hit it and quit it_. But Shangela still wasn’t ready to admit her fault to its complete entity, where it all came from.

It did start innocently, Shangela admired her for her brain, she was very smart in math class, following along easily, answering questions while exuding confidence, even the times she was wrong. Shangela sometimes stayed behind after class had ended to collect a test or ask additional questions and would listen to Trixie and the professor go back and forth about mathematical theories, always hoping from one foot to another waiting for the sweet release of the professor dismissing Trixie with an _email me later with more questions._

And then things just weren’t so innocent anymore. It had started with one drink at the local bar she sometimes snuck into and there she was, sipping on wine and writing in a notebook. She hated that her memory failed her, but she can never forget how _good_ it felt to be underneath that woman that was so soft, so sweet, commanding the scene with her actions, letting Shangela’s mind wander aimlessly through the rivers of pleasure.

And she’ll never forget how she had felt realizing everything, all those feelings had been one sided when she saw Trixie with another person, and then another, and then another.

She isn’t sure how Trixie is now; 10 years had passed after all, perhaps more if she could bother to compare the date of then and the date of now. She could be single, she could have a type, she could have a preferred gender. She could just be visiting and if she was permanently relocating, it could be a coincidence that DeLa and Trixie ran into each other. She knows Trixie had changed numbers, had to have happened after Shangela graduated, a full two years before Trixie. She found that that had turned out to be a major advantage of going for an Associate in business.

She finally started her car and turned off the curb on her way home, praying, for DeLa’s sake, that Trixie had changed just a little.

-

**Trixie:**

Hey I’m free tmrw, want to meet up? Lunch? I’m free after 1 :) [6:31 p.m.]

**Ben DeLa:**

I’m up for lunch, at the diner we went to. See you then! [6:35 p.m.]

-

In bed, with fresh sheets, freshly washed and lotioned up body, and fresh pajamas, DeLa happily watched cartoons until she fell asleep a few hours and a few texts later, already anxious to meet Trixie again and shaking off the weird vibes she had gotten from Shangie earlier.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am on [Tumblr](https://mattedzamo.tumblr.com/)


End file.
